Chasing The Sun
by Everlane
Summary: When war breaks out in District 12, Rachel faces an uncertain future with the one she loves. Sequel to Before I Let You Go.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Hunger Games or Glee_

**Author's Note: **Wow. That's all I can say seeing the reviews. I'm so glad that you all enjoyed the story, and I just want to say that I am still up for any constructive criticism you have for me with the next. It was difficult writing this one, mostly because I was really concerned with going in depth with my characters. As of now, I have four pages worth of snippets of the story I've discarded. Yes. It was that bad. But fret not my friends, for this three shot finally came to life. Again, fell free to throw out any comments about how you thought of the story. I hope you all relax and enjoy. I'm still finishing up the last chapters of _There's Gold In Every Moment. _

* * *

**Chasing the Sun**

When they were young and oblivious to something called life, long before she met her, she remembers seeing her once. Under a willow tree, using a small knife to peel orange in her tanned hands. The girl's face was scrunched up in keen focus, dark eyes pinned on the pored skin of the fruit, and unaware that another girl in a dirtied blue dress happened to watch her from afar. This was an early morning, when Santana was nothing but a another kid she saw around the block.

When she tells her father this, he's surprised because that was the first time she spoke about Santana in months. He lit up with a small smile and turned back to watch Flickerman questioning Santana, whose face seemed over powdered. Her eye shadow dark and heavy, red lipstick that made her lips look like one of those Capitol people who fatten their lips using pills, Rachel knew that Santana was a mess underneath that pile of makeup.

She sits in the kitchen with her father, sipping tea as Flickerman presses the solemn girl to answer more questions. _Most of us are very curious about your status with your love back home. I'm so sorry that you didn't get to see her. _Rachel feels her father's hand on hers, calming the growing guilt stirring deep in her chest. Santana answers with a no, but the cameras aren't focusing on her face. They see Flickerman's the whole time. The Capitol has too much to hide these days.

"You couldn't have done something terrible, right?" He laughs nervously, bu the cameras still don't focus on Santana. "I'm sorry, Ms. Lopez. What a terrible fate for 12's victor."

Nothing came from the interviewee, and for a moment, Rachel wanted to reach through the television to just hold her hand. She wanted to hug her and kiss her. Tell her all was well. But she shoves the urges down, and waits for the next set of words, clutching her mug's heat for comfort.

"It must feel awful being ostracized by your own community and love."

Something crashes, but it takes her seconds to realize that the sound came from the television. The vase on the small table near Flickerman topples over. Blurs of movement obscure Flickerman and a figure in red. There's screaming and banging over the stage. Someone was hitting another.

She leaps from her seat, glued to the screen, eye frantically trying to see the figure in red. But shades of white cover everything, and the girl in red was no more. The television shuts down, prompting the dimming of a few light bulbs in the cabin. Rachel sits there on her knees, pants harshly along with the rapid beating of her heart. Her mind is frazzled, and only one answer can quiet it. An answer to the one question that could calm the gripping fear and the painful ache in her chest. _What's happening to her?_

She couldn't imagine what until she happened to be in the square on a cold night.

_Dear citizens of Panem. I come forward this morning to announce the death of our 74__th__ Hunger Games victor, Santana Lopez. It is very disheartening to see a woman so young and brave, meet such an end __just last week. May her community and family know that she is at peace, and the whole of Panem will pray for her silent journey above. _

He didn't even say how she died.

And they didn't bother to ask.

They were animals. The lot of them, with eyes glued to the screen like rats with no where else to go. Rats that scramble into two as she pushes through the crowd to hear the man speak more through the large screen in the square. He was lying. He had to be. There was no way that Santana was dead, she couldn't be. She was just on television, arrested and forced on trial for the murder of Caesar Flickerman.

She couldn't be dead. Not after all this time. In her mind the memories of a pleading and desperate Santana came into mind. In one memory she's begging to see Rachel on her knees, but Rachel's so paralyzed with fear that even thought her despite their pleading tones, she refused to open the door. Their intrusive and overwhelming, making her head feel light, and deep down she knew that she was all to blame because she abandoned Santana. Abandoned her in the tight cages of her insanity, which heightened over the span of the Victory Tour and the upcoming Quarter Quell. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach.

There are murmurs, vicious little things she hears about she and Santana. Right behind her. _It's good that she's gone. The girl was a crazy crock to begin with. Sleeping with her own best friend! Shame! _She calmly watches the screen, knowing that the crowd was now far behind, cautious of brushing arms with her. She then longer heard President Snow's voice, only the hushed ones behind.

* * *

She's never read one of those nice books the Capitol people leave ridden in dust in their so called libraries. The only thing she's ever laid her eyes on were manuals for coal mining and books on communications. So when she discovers an ancient book near one of the trees in the woods, she's only sure it was meant for her. Because it's right on the spot where Santana sits.

At home she reads this book about love and tragedy. She's in another world, yet she feels herself touching the surface of her realities. Just enough to not fully venture out.

She puts the book down hours later. She milks her goat outside, her mind ridden with images of the girl she abandoned. The one who died a sudden death. She thinks of that night in the woods, kissed all over. Loved by the girl who had a deep crush on her. She thinks of dark eyes that looked at her as if she was the most perfect being in existence. Of how much she loved her.

When her father sees her enter in the kitchen, he rushes over as fast as he could with his slowed movements and hugs her tight before she fell. He hushes her quietly as she sobs uncontrollably in the kitchen, holding him tight.

* * *

_Three Years Later_

War is coming.

She's here packaging goat cheese for the Hob, humming a song while uprising tore four districts. She knows this because in the last six months, the president speaks of the same thing each time. Everything will be under control. There are enemies amongst us. It was stupid really, because despite the fact that twelve was a place packed with coal miners. No one was stupid. They knew what was going on.

The rumor mills flooded with it in the Hob where she sells her cheeses to Greasy Sae, the only person besides her father who spoke to her. People started to run. Peacekeepers attacked the innocent for no reason. The food the Capitol sends on Santana's behalf arrives rotten, leaving residents starving slowly while being abused by those meant to keep the peace. Her father's getting more sick, but she remembers how Santana fetches food and feeds her family, so she does well to feed him.

She knows that war was coming. She could smell it. Ever since Santana's death, the other districts began to slowly rebel. As if the dead woman's murdering spree in the games sparked some sort of revolution. It started with eleven, then three, and finally five and seven. It's still growing, moving outward like the ripples over the lakes in the woods when she went there to think. She's seen people in twelve disappear, knowing that they escaped deep into the woods, gambling their lives amongst dangerous animals. Sometimes she stumbles upon animals on the streets. Dogs. Cats. Animals she's seen with the little children who disappear with their parents.

She's whistling now, listening to the national anthem play on the small television in the room. Rachel has no time to escape like the others, for this was her home. There was no where else. She senses her father in the kitchen, quietly watching the screen of their old television.

"I wonder when they'll start dropping bombs." She frowns at her father's words, but doesn't say anything since she agrees with most of it. "It's going to happen sooner or later, Rachel. They'll attack twelve, and move on to the next districts."

"But there's no uprising in twelve,"

"It doesn't matter," He says. "They'll bomb the place, even if it is to just prove a point."

_But what point do they need to prove over a peaceful district? _She ignores the unsettling feeling in her stomach. The last time her father was like this, Santana ended up in the games. Just like he predicted.

"I might not be around for a little bit longer," He says again, with an odd airiness in his voice. A cough followed. Hacking. "Hell, this might even be the last I talk to you again, Rachel," He turns and gives her a tired smile.

She shoves that bad feeling down, "You're not going anywhere."

He doesn't respond, but looks back at the screen and doesn't say anything else throughout the night. This time, Rachel watches the reruns of the games a year ago, catching a glimpse of a dark haired girl in the woods. This was two years after the 74th games, where a twelve year old girl was chosen. She reminds her of Santana, sneaking in the woods.

* * *

"Hey!"

_Don't stop._

Keep walking, she tells herself. Keep walking. She doesn't go in the direction of her home, because she's frightened these boys will get her father too. They might beat him up and kill him, tossing him somewhere in a ditch where no one will bother to look.

At first, she thought they were just customers when she came to the Hob. But they began to follow her after she trades her cheese with Greasy Sae, who didn't notice the boys earlier. There were two at first. But now, she's sure they're now seven or ten, hollering insults and cackling alongside each other in at the crack of dawn. Some of them throw pebbles, and at times, she feels them on her back. She's sure they'll kill her when they grab the chance.

It's still very early in the morning. She can scream, but no one will come out to help her. She knows this being ostracized for three years, literally abandoned by all those who used to be kind to her once. They acknowledge her father, but never her. And often, she had to calm her father down from cursing at those truly ignorant who would go as far as to not touch her hand.

Those people will listen to her screams in the crack of dawn, but they won't dare try to even look at the culprits. She curses herself for only carrying the cheeses and nothing else. All she has in her gray dress with her boots because of the muddied grounds. There's no weapon with her.

She's so focused on getting far away from these boys that she almost yelps when a peacekeeper comes out from behind a cabin. She stops in the narrow alley she tried to hide in, knowing that the gang stopped too behind. The peacekeeper is taller than her, but not the boys behind, who were mostly lanky and skinny.

She has her mask on, but she doesn't have a badge on her. Still, the gang is bound to disperse, afraid of what will happen to them if they were taken into custody. They've had enough of seeing others in the district suffer torturous sessions with the authorities, and they didn't plan on getting in the same fate.

"You boys need something?" She asks calmly, making Rachel frown.

She knows that voice.

The leader, Grayson, shakes his head. "No."

"You sure?"

His henchman, Markus covers for the silent Grayson, "Yeah. We were just seeing her off."

The peacekeeper doesn't say anything, but stands there, with a pistol in her hand. She's several feet away from Rachel, but there was something about her that made the brunette's hair rise on the back of her neck. The way she stood, or kept her focus right on her as she interrogated the boys.

"That's very noble," She says later. "But you don't need to worry anymore. I'll watch her from here."

They flee like rats, in separate directions, disappearing in almost less than a second. But then Rachel feels the peacekeeper's hands firmly on her arm and wrenches it behind, pointing the gun against the small of her back.

She hears movement, and knows that the peacekeeper has removed her mask, a visor over white cloth that covers all the way up to one's nose. Lips are now against her ear, and they move, "Do anything, and you'll be in a wheelchair by the time I'm done with you." She presses the barrel against the small of her back. This wasn't a peacekeeper.

"You hear me?"

It's hard trying to find a response when her heart was beating so fast. It _can't _be.

"Where's your father?" She asks against her ear.

"In the house."

"The same house?"

"Yes." She says hurriedly.

She feels a nod, her fear subsiding. The head leans against hers, as if the body behind her was somewhat hugging her and holding her close. Instinctively she lets it happen, swallowing the tears that threatened to spill out soon.

"Do you trust me?"

Rachel feels her eyes burn, but she says, "Yes. I do."

Santana pulls the gun away from her and slips her mask back on. They move then, walking through the neighborhood. People watch her from their porches, more fearful that the peacekeeper would decide to take a shot at them, but the two have other plans. The neighbors soon rush into their homes, bolting all doors locked. She doesn't see Santana's face, but knowing she was right behind made her heart leap for joy.

They make it to her home. Santana asks if her father was upstairs, and she says yes, he was asleep. She still doesn't see the woman's face when they make it into the kitchen. "Do you have much to pack?"

She frowns, "No."

She watches Santana move to close the curtains in the kitchen quickly. Rachel couldn't see her face, but she watches her back. The woman lays the gun gently over the counter and turns, removing her mask. She shouldn't be surprised. War does this to people. But seeing Santana's face more worse than the time at the interview is frightening. Still, this was Santana. This was her in flesh. _Alive._

"I need coffee." She says.

Rachel nods, rushing over to the counter to prepare a very hot one. She's so into her work that she doesn't hear the woman move until she feels a weight behind her. She already knows what will happen next. Santana takes her arm and pulls it, twisting her around before she takes her lips. Gloved hands slip behind her head, clenching her hair, and deepening the union.

Rachel is lost in a realm of just them, together and alone in this room. Nothing else mattered. But Santana abruptly pulls back, lips inches from hers. "I need you to pack."

"Why?"

But Santana's already gotten into the living room space, frantically looking around. She stomps up the staircase with Rachel behind her and goes straight to the brunette's room. She still knows her way around. Again, the hair on the back of Rachel's neck stands up, and there's this sinking feeling in her chest. She knows something is wrong. Santana has this look about her face, and it's the same kind she saw on the last time she saw her three years ago in the games.

She was in full on survival mode, and that meant something terrible was going to happen. And then the sounds catching her attention. Rachel makes her way to the window, and catches a glimpse of a group of hovercrafts far away. Like deadly flies creeping from the tall trees and bushes of the woods. In another time she would think that there was another reaping to take place. But that wasn't until next week, and there's no other reason for the Capitol to come here other than...

"Santana..."

She's already by the window, and that wild glint in her eye suddenly springs to life. She pushes a duffel bag against Rachel to pack what she could. When Santana disappears into her father's room, Rachel's hands are trembling as they pick up what she needed for a trip she had no idea about. She spots the book she found in the woods three years earlier and quickly shoves it in her bag, leaving her school books behind.

Where else was there to go if there's no safe place in Panem? All the districts were under severe control, and there's no way they would ever be safe. Not unless they turn into deers and make a living in the woods.

Her panting heightens at the sound of her father's confused voice and Santana's hurried tones. She's pulling him down the staircase, barking for Rachel to follow her behind.

Then it starts.

The loud bang was so thundering that she felt the floor vibrate. Santana rushes back up and pulls her, prompting her to run. The sound of terror seizes several houses around her own, rousing shrill screams and cries from the neighbors. Another bang, and she falls behind Santana, who quickly pulls her back up easily on her feet. Her knuckles turn white holding her bag, letting Santana lead the way. When she gets control of herself she quickly holds her father against her.

District 12 was being bombed.

* * *

End Note: Yes. First part of five parts actually so it's no longer going to be three. So now, I'm working fast to finish_ There's Gold In Every Moment. _This will go after. Now, as for _The Sun Goes Out_, I haven't spoke in a while to my beta reader. Because I'm going to be very taken with school this year, I might have to stop the communication, even though my beta reader is very good. I will have to delete chapter two. But fear not, I will add additional revised chapters to calm those who are genuinely interested in the story. So don't worry. I am finding as much time as I can.


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